-- The Hourglass --

by John Herlihy

Time appears to be a fickle mistress

It offers itself for sale then runs away

First it seems to be in endless supply

Slowing down, speeding up, in between

As if there is all the time in the world

All the time in the world we thought

The richness of time flowing as a river

Time’s accuracy speeding as an arrow

Then suddenly the last few grains of sand

Trickle into the bottom of the hourglass

What happened to all those grains of sand

What happened to all the time we wonder

Where did all the minutes, hours, days go

Then we know the face of time for what it is

As happiness knows the face of true sorrow

In the fullness of life the emptiness of death

In the fullness of death the emptiness of life

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Tuesday 10 September 2024